Come Wake Me Up
by 23Sammy
Summary: "She still expected him to smell of sunscreen and salt and sand, but he didn't. She didn't know if he ever had. The only time she had been this close to him was when he had hugged her at the airport and she had been too stunned, anxious and hyped up to register anything else aside from the fact, that he was actually THERE." Spoilers for 6x09. Mostly fluff. Much needed fluff ;-)


A/N: A day after I swore never to write anything fan or fiction related ever again, my head decided it was a stupid decision and made me do this. Thanks, head. I, guess. Contains spoilers up to and including the promo for 6x09 plus a little speculative thought I couldn't get out of my head when I saw the promo. Will probably go AU within the next 24 hours, but I hope you like it anyway. Bit nervous, though. First thing I wrote in over a year and first Mentalist story ever. And I own nothing except for the typos. Oh, and T for mild sexual situations. And one or two swear-words ;-)

* * *

Her pen made an angry and impatient scratchy noise. It was, she thought, the perfect sound to accompany her signature on this particular piece of paper. She turned her head a little, trying to blink away the headache that had lingered somewhere in the back of her head all day and now started clawing its way into her temples. She lifted the paper to put it on the small, but growing stack of others paper on her left. The paper gave her a little cheery wave before settling down, just enough to reveal the black print on its back. She glowered at it and snatched it back from the stack, slamming it forcefully and without mercy on the table.

_Great. More boxes to tick._

She felt like throwing the pen against the wall, yell at someone or rip the paper apart. All of which — randomly or in that order — would make her feel better, if only for a few moments. But she didn't do any of those things. And it wasn't because she was afraid the result of one or all actions combined would lead to her having to fill out the bloody form again — probably along with some others regarding vandalism, anger management and unprofessional conduct. It was simply because Teresa Lisbon didn't want to make any noise.  
And the reason for that was currently fast asleep on the couch on the other side of the table.

She looked up at him.

The pen, ready to wreak havoc on a set of new innocent black lines on top of the unexpected page two, halted its assault in mid-air. Her hand was suddenly rendered motionless, when a wave of undefined and contradictory emotions cancelled out all the precise and clear commands her brain had issued to it only milliseconds before. The reason for her body's reaction was the same as for the silence.

Him. Asleep. On a couch. Not ten feet away.

She blinked. Somehow she wasn't able to clearly focus on him and she was quite sure that neither headache, tiredness nor bad lighting were to blame. It was a bit like looking at a 3D television without wearing those ridiculous glasses, that always looked like something out of a McDonald's happy meal. It was like looking at two similar images superimposed on each other, but not aligned properly.

The older one, the one she had held on to for the past 24 months, showed him curled up on his side, hands crossed protectively in front of his chest, knees slightly drawn up. It was a memory with an undefined amount of prequels and sequels, varying only in small details: The colour of his suit or his vest, shirt-sleeves rolled up or down, depending on whether he had bothered to take off his jacket before taking a nap. Or the expression on his face, guarded and neutral when he took a nap in the bull-pen and often softened, sometimes sad, sometimes close to content when he slept on the couch in her office. She had always wondered if he was aware of it, but had never dared to ask. But aside from the nuances, the image of a sleeping Patrick Jane was always solid and vivid in her memory. It was something she had witnessed a hundred times and remembered a hundred times more.

The other memory, the one she was recording now, was a first: Patrick Jane in a white shirt and grey trousers, stretched out on his back, with his arms folded behind his head, his face all calm and relaxed in a way she couldn't yet define. What she could define was that the new memory of him included more than a little stubble, a healthy tan and unruly hair that looked way to attractive for its own good.  
Or hers.  
It also included him stretched out on the most ugly couch she had ever seen. Maybe it was the conflicting colours of the fabric and not her perceptions of him that made her eyes swim.

_Less poetic, but actually more likely_, Lisbon thought.

Putting the pen aside, she pushed herself out of the chair and carefully navigated to the other side of the table, thereby manoeuvring herself literally within arm's reach of the head of the couch and the man on it. The motel room they were currently crammed into was small to begin with, but would have been quite nice with only a single bed and a cupboard, had not someone decided that the need for a table and a hideous couch was greater than for space to actually move without accident or injury from the bed to the bathroom.

She leaned against the edge of the table, eyes still finding their way through the jumble of memories to the present and the actual sight of him in front of her. It had been a week now. It still felt surreal.

She watched him sleep. Actually watched him sleep. Breathing in. And out. Chest rising and falling.

_Count one. Count two._

She desperately wanted to touch him. To make sure he was actually there. With her. In the same room. Which was ridiculous, because he had actually never left her side for the past week and she had even found herself snapping at him a couple of times to back off, no longer used to having anyone in her personal space for an unlimited amount of time and in stressful situations. And stressful didn't begin to cover the situation she was finding herself in. She had gone from working in a small town, where there was hardly any law to enforce at all, to suddenly being back in the thick of things within 24 hours.

She loved every second of it.

But it was a lot to adapt to in such a short space of time. New people, new rules, new jurisdictions, new cases, new… Jane.

They hadn't had much time to talk properly yet and this new happy-go-lucky-beach-boy-vibe he was sporting was freaking her out a bit, since she could not tell yet how much of it was show, just another mask to hide behind, and how much was him really being… well, happy.

Every time she had tried to start a conversation about the last 24 months — and inevitably about what had come before — he just beamed at her and said he was fine, that she should stop worrying and that everything would be better from now on. Of course that had worried and annoyed her even more, but she had not forced the issue (yet), part of her still afraid that talking would lead to fighting which would lead to him leaving again. He seemed genuinely happy to be by her side again and didn't miss a single opportunity to tell her how much he'd missed her. She could tell he meant it. But she could also tell, that there was something he was _not_ telling her. It made her nervous, because whereas in the past she had always known that essentially all secrets and evasive actions on his part had to do with Red John, now, in the present, she had no idea what they might be about.

It scared her a little.

Did he want to leave again? Did he hate being back? Or did he actually enjoy it? Did he have plans for the future? Or was he just drifting? Maybe he had done something stupid during the past 2 years, he didn't want her to know about? Or maybe he had done something stupid today?

Well, actually she knew the answer to the last question, so that couldn't be it.

They were already on a case and half of the new team never let Jane out of their sight, apparently still expecting him to bolt any second. Which, of course, annoyed him immensely. In his defence, he had shown incredible patience — more for her sake than his own, she guessed — for the first few days, before it got the better of him and after a few minor incidents during the day, she had suddenly found herself standing between a smugly grinning Patrick Jane and two very annoyed, very angry agents, who told him to go to hell and her that they would investigate a lead in the next town and be back in the morning. Jane had sauntered into her motel room half an hour later, flopped down on the couch, made a flippant remark about finally being alone with her — and promptly fallen asleep.

She hadn't known whether to laugh, cry or yell at him.  
So she had decided to let him sleep until she figured it out.

Which she still hadn't. Obviously. As if to prove this point, her hand hovered between herself and him, still not sure if it wanted to caress his cheek or slide into his curls or pinch his nose. All three options were equally attractive. She sighed. It was late, she had a headache and had to get a move on, if she ever wanted to get some sleep tonight, so in the end she opted for the fourth option, which neatly solved two of her problems at once:

She turned the wretched report into a paper-ball and threw it at his head.

He almost fell off the couch in surprise and made a startled noise somewhere between a yelp, a snort and a squeal.

Lisbon laughed.

"Feeling better now?", he asked with a sleepy grumble, once he had regained his former position on the couch.

"Actually, yes", she said sweetly and grinned. He blinked at her for a moment, before closing his eyes again, an amused smile spreading across his face.

"I take it this vicious attack means you've figured out what you needed to figure out? Or do you need me to lie still for another hour or two?", he asked, voice thick with sleep. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Yes, I have."

"And?"

"I've decided you are still an annoying pain in the neck."

"was 'fraid you might", he sighed and shifted his body a little closer to the edge of the couch, eyes still closed.

"Until I see conclusive evidence to the contrary, it was the only logical decision, especially after the stunt you pulled today", she said.

He chuckled. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't enjoy the look on their faces."

"I did not", she informed him. He raised his eyebrows, but kept his eyes tightly shut.

"OK, maybe. A bit", she admitted. "But it was wrong nevertheless. Didn't you promise me things would be better from now on?"

"They are! I was able to actually enjoy the whole experience of irking them, without regret or fear or worry. So, there you go. Much better." He waved a hand at her to emphasise his point.

She snorted. "Our definitions of the term "better" clearly don't match, but never mind, that is hardly surprising."

He dropped the hand and the smile vanished from his face.

"Why?" His voice was quiet all over sudden. "Why is it not better to not fear or regret or worry?"

_Shit._

She felt her hands gripping the edge of the table for support. She struggled for words. At the same time she felt horribly guilty, because when the smile on his face had faded, she had actually been a little relieved and happy. Because letting her see the shadow that passed over his face meant — in a confusing sort of way — that he still let her see *him*.

Relief, guilt and not really knowing what else to do, moved her into action, before she could stop herself. She leaned forward and stretched out a hand, gently brushing a blonde curl from his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Jane. That's not what I meant, it's just…"

A different kind of smile lit up his face now and when he subtly leaned into her touch, her stomach suddenly felt all kinds of funny. She pulled her hand back.

"I know", he said, eyes still resolutely shut. "Our definitions of better do actually match in principle. Yours just has a few amendments, like not having to fill out any more complaint forms on my behalf. Or not having to worry if I get bored by the job and decide to return to my quiet beach and leave you again. And not having to feel conflicted about being happy to see me and wanting to punch my lights out for ruining your life. And not worrying that you don't know me anymore, just because things are a little different now. Am I right so far?"

"Jane…"

She felt a little panicky all over sudden. Maybe she should have just let him sleep and not thrown the paper-ball. She was not sure, if she was actually ready for this conversation yet. She looked down and found to her own surprise that her hand was still hovering in the space between them. She started to draw it back, when his hand suddenly caught her wrist, his thumb swiftly stroking over her knuckles, before he curled his fingers around hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly. At which moment it hit her.

_He'd known._ He'd known she hadn't been ready for this. Even though she herself hadn't.

"Is that why you didn't say anything before?", she asked quietly, testing her theory.

"That", he said. "and the fact that it wasn't a topic I was keen on discussing in front of everyone else — for various reasons."

She sighed, shaking her head at him. "And that's what all the fuss today was about? To get rid of everyone else?"

"Essentially. Entertainment was just a welcome by-product", he grinned, then his expression grew serious and he finally opened his eyes.

What she saw in them took her breath away.

"I know you doubt me, because you think you don't know me anymore. But I am still me. And I meant what I said, Lisbon. I missed you. Every. Single. Day. There is so much more I want to say to you. Need to say to you. And you have no idea how grateful I am that I actually get a chance to say it. I am just sorry it took so long for me to find a way to come back to you."

His lips suddenly curved up into an amused grin.

"And I'd appreciate it, if you started breathing again, because the getting-back-part took some serious effort and patience and I am not willing to let everything end after a week, because you decide to suffocate on me."

The sound that escaped her throat after releasing the breath she had been holding, was a mixture between a laugh and a sob and she lowered her head, trying to hide the tears that shot into her eyes. He'd know they weren't the result of oxygen deprivation. Her heart had already processed his words and was beating wildly in her chest, pumping pure happiness into her veins. She felt light-headed all over sudden. He gave her hand an almost imperceptible tug that made her look back up at him. He smiled at her and repeated the movement. Her body felt very light. So light, that she didn't even need to push herself up from the table. She thought she was floating. Also, she noticed, her feet seemed to move.

Then her brain finally caught up with the rest of her and she froze in mid-step.

"What?"

He grinned. "What what?"

"You are sorry it took so long?"

"Yes."

"And it took patience and effort?"

"Yes."

"You had… you actually had… "

"A plan, yes."

She stared at him.

"Teresa, breathing is still not optional", he reminded her with another tug on her hand.

"You planned to come back all along?"

He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his free hand in mock hurt at her wary expression.

"Of course I did. I told you. I _missed_ you."

"You planned this all along?"

She felt anger rising inside her, hot and bright. The son of a bitch. He could have told her… before. He had no idea how much she had hurt, how lonely she had been, how…

"Well, not from the start, there was some stuff I had to… figure out first", he said, the quick shadow of grief, that crossed his face, extinguishing the angry fire within her at once. He sighed and shrugged the shadow away.

"But once I'd done that, I found that I missed you way too much to be happy and then it sort of… went from there."

"But how?"

He yawned, ignoring her question and instead asked one of his own.

"What time is it?"

"Night. Sometime. How did you do it, Jane?"

"Lisbon…"

"Jane…"

He held up his free hand. "I'll tell you all about it if you want to, but it's not that interesting, really."

The frown on her face morphed into an amused smile before she could stop it.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. There are far more interesting things to discuss than how I got here."

"Like what?" she asked, fully aware by now that his free hand was reaching for her. She felt her feet starting to move again, inching closer. His hand brushed her thigh and moved up to her waist.

"Like if it wouldn't be a good idea to change locations."

"Change locations?"

"This couch is horrible", he remarked with a frown, as if seeing it for the first time.

She laughed. "I noticed."

He raised his head and glanced over her shoulder, his grin widening.

"That bed looks a lot more comfortable."

The smile vanished from her face and the frown was back. Wrestling her hand out of his grip, she took a step back. Leaning against the table again, arms crossed in front of her chest, she said in a dead-pan voice:

"You are right, that is more interesting than the fact that you apparently conned a federal agency into signing a pardon. Or that I was worried for two bloody years that I might never see you again. Ever. So yeah, the bed is more interesting than that. And you know what's an even more interesting thing about that comfortable bed? Every room has one. Including yours. So. Get. Out."

His eyes searched her face frantically and for a second he looked almost panicky. One hand was now in his hair, scratching in confusion at his scalp, the other not sure if it should aid him in getting up from the couch or slapping his mouth shut, before he could say something to make this situation even worse. His mouth opened, then shut again, eyes constantly moving, trying desperately to read her. She didn't move a muscle. Even though it almost killed her to watch him squirm like that. It was a rare sight… and an adorable one.

"Lisbon, I'm sorry… I…" His voice cracked. And that was all it took for her resolve to crack as well. The corners of her mouth twitched.

He blinked. Then his eyes widened.

She burst out laughing at his stunned expression.

"Very funny", he grumbled, but she could tell that he was actually impressed and curious and not at all offended.

"I thought it was, thank you", she said and boldly leaned forward to ruffle his hair. Even though the gesture was meant to be teasing, she felt him lean into her touch and her hand came to rest on top of his head, when he moved his head to look up at her with amused curiosity. She removed her hand, before the urge to start another form of teasing entirely became too great. She wasn't done with the regular kind yet.

"You are the most honest person on this planet and the most terrible liar and I know no one as well as you and for that reason alone you should not be able to do this to me", he said still a little baffled.

It was still more than a little adorable.

She grinned and leaned down towards him, before whispering: "Got you, didn't I? See, you weren't the only one with a plan. And since yours took quite a while, I had a looooooot of time to practice."

He blinked. And then he burst out laughing. It was the most amazing sound she had ever heard and she was glad that this time he might consider the tears in her eyes to be the result of her own laughter rather than that of the strange deep emotion she was not really able to name.

"I deserved that", he eventually said, when his laughter subsided. She smiled sweetly at him. "Oh this is just the start. I had a lot of time to develop a lot of plans to get back at you for leaving me in that mess. And I intend to execute them all."

He swung his legs from the couch and got up in one fluid movement.

"I promise to enjoy and endure all of them with grace and dignity", he said, now standing right in front of her.

Her breath hitched a little at the close proximity, but she still managed to smile up at him sweetly. She was proud of her self-control.

"Oh trust me, you won't. Which _I _in return will enjoy immensely." After all, just because they had managed to get out of that whole Red-John-mess with their, well… whatever kind of "-ship" this was, still intact, didn't mean she wasn't going to make him suffer just a little for what he'd done to her.

"Some of them are quite ingenious and imaginative", she added. His grin widened and she felt his fingers slowly trailing down her arms and back up again.

"Do any of them involve comfortable motel-beds by any chance?" he asked in a low, teasing voice, hands now tightening a little and slowly pulling her towards him.

She shook her head. "No. What is it with you and this bed?"

The hands were now gently pushing.

"I like this bed."

Her feet were moving backwards.

"You have a couch to sleep on."

His feet were moving forward.

"The couch is hideous."

"But you managed to sleep on it fine just a few minutes ago."

"I wasn't sleeping."

She took a step back and bumped into the edge of the bed.

"Yes, you were. I can tell when you are."

"Really?"

Her feet had stopped. His hands had not.

"Yes."

It came out as nothing more than a whisper, when she felt his thumb sweeping over the pulse point on her left hand. Damn. Apparently she had left her self-control over at the table.

His hands stopped moving. His expression changed into a curious frown.

"Seriously?"

She nodded, thankful for the short distraction, because it gave her time to regroup and get her bearings again. How had he managed to get her to the bed so fast and without her really noticing? She'd forgotten how good he was at this kind of thing.

"How?"

She sat down on the bed and waited for him to do the same, before she said, without looking at him.

"Because when you sleep close to… me… you… I don't know.. I can see…" She shrugged. It wasn't really easy to explain. "You", she finished lamely. When he didn't say or do anything, she counted to ten, then took all her courage to look up into his eyes, fearing he'd laugh at her or be angry with her for prying.  
What she saw was something entirely different. And like before, it took her breath away.

Only this time, she could swear he wasn't breathing either.

After what could have been an hour or only a few seconds, his right hand reached of her left one.

"When I sleep close to you, huh?", he whispered with a mischievous grin, breaking the tension and making time move forward again. She rolled her eyes at him, but could not hide the smile that crept back into her face.

"Jane… that's not what I meant."

"What do you think I meant you meant?"

"Well… not that… obviously."

She felt herself starting to blush.

"Not what?"

The hand tugged at her own.

"Jane…" She wasn't sure if it was a protest or a plea.

The hand tugged again. This time a little more insistent.

"C'mere."

Then his hand slid up her arm in a soft caress that promised so much more. And while her brain was busy thinking about some of those things, it failed to register his other hand sneaking around her waist.

He pulled her quickly down and up unto the bed, before she had any chance to resist. All sorts of insults and indignant responses rose up in her chest, but she found that they all took to long to communicate. So she just went with the most obvious one.

"Jane!"

He just grinned and before she knew how, she was in his arms.

Before he could pull her closer in, she put a hand against his chest. Not to push him away, but to keep at least a little distance between them for now, suddenly a little afraid of the unaccustomed feelings rising up in her and hoping to gain some sort of control again. Instead, it made her lose the little control she still had, when she realised she could now feel his heart beat under her fingers. His smile broadened and turned into a smirk as he registered her pupils dilate.

_Smartass._

She poked him.

He chuckled and tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her closer. And this time she let him, wrapping her arms around him and pushing her face into his neck.

She still expected him to smell of sunscreen and salt and sand, but he didn't. Actually she didn't know if he ever had. The only time she had been this close to him since he got back was when he had hugged her at the airport and she had been too stunned, anxious and hyped up to register anything else aside from the fact, that he was actually THERE.

But now, in this quiet, strange motel in the middle of nowhere, she registered everything. The warmth of his body so close to hers, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his skin against her cheek and the familiar smell of just… him, that made a violent sob rise from the deepest part of her heart. The soft brush of his lips against her forehead whisked it away, before it could do any damage. She had a feeling he had known it would. She pressed her lips softly against the stubbly skin of his neck and tightened her grip on him for a moment.

"You need a shave", she mumbled, smiling against his skin, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch, pressing his lips into the palm of her hand. She lifted her head from its place against his neck for a moment and could swear she heard him make the tiniest of unhappy noises. Or maybe it was her, she couldn't really tell.

"I don't know, it's kind of growing on me.", he replied and pulled her back down to him. She closed her eyes, when she felt his nose touch hers, his stubbly cheek sliding against her smooth one.

"No kidding", she whispered into his ear and felt him shiver just a little, when she pressed a soft kiss in the spot just beneath it. He chuckled and she knew there was a cheeky remark about things "growing" forming in his head. With a cheeky thought of her own, she slid both her hands into his hair thereby turning the words that were about to leave his lips into a soft moan.

The last thing she registered before she finally felt his hands slipping beneath her shirt and the soft pressure of his lips against hers, was that her headache was gone.


End file.
